


The Winter Hound

by WildBurr



Series: Canine!Pooka Jack [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Howling, Jack is a Little Shit, M/M, Pooka - Freeform, Pooka Jack, pure fluff, scaredy bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6193921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildBurr/pseuds/WildBurr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(I am so bad at titles...)</p><p>"Uh, that's a Hound cottentail... You know what they do to rabbits?"</p><p>In which Jack has kept a few things close to the chest, and finds the perfect opportunity to drop a bombshell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winter Hound

There were always rumours, though no one, spirit or mortal could confirm them for certain.

Large paw prints in the snow around dangerous areas, marking out safe paths.

The howling in the dead of night that always seemed to steer the lost towards warmth and civilization.

There was even a story, long ago in the colonial era, of a child running into the woods, away from bandits. The attackers lost their way in the sudden blizzard, and the child mentioned he was protected in the thick pelt of an unnaturally large and pure white wolf.

But as time passed, the stories dwindled, and the Winter Hound passed into myth, and eventually faded from thought entirely.

Spirits came and went every day, from the most fleeting of fairies to great boulders in the river of time, like Sandman, Bogeyman.

Like the Easter Bunny.

Then, after the whole nightmare fiasco had been dealt with, sightings began to spring up, here and there, the briefest of glimpses before it vanished into the snow with a flick of the tail.

The issue was briefly brought up in a Guardian meeting, of which Jack now attended faithfully, most times even arriving a whole day early. To be honest, it was rather endearing to the older protectors of belief, reminding them of their own enthusiasm long ago, before ritual and holidays distracted them from the job at hand. That, and it was hard to say no to spending a little more time with the abandoned teen.

As the current expert on all things wintery, Jack swore he hadn't laid eyes on the creature in person, but saw plenty of evidence for it. As far as he knew, it was just another spirit.

The unspoken "that ignored me" hung over the four's heads.

One by one, the assembled spirits turned the discussion to other matters. All except Aster. The large, very rabbit-like pooka wasn't comfortable with canines as a rule, and spirit canines were a lot harder to avoid than mere mortal greyhounds.

Every meeting he brought the matter up again, and it seemed as though the beast was rising to the challenge. A sighting in Russia, where two lost boys were left at the edge of the woods, large wolf tracks circling them. In Canada, an escaping murderer was found, frozen and with frostbite on the tips of his fingers, up a tree, babbling about a never tiring mutt that seemed to vanish into the snow drifts, bounding through the blizzard like smoke. In Ireland, a white dog growled at anybody approaching a lake, saving several lives as the ice violently cracked open one early spring thaw.

And every meeting Jack would shrug and say "I've never seen it in person".

\---------------

Tales of the Winter Hound grew with each passing year. A group of schoolchildren petting a massive wolf on a school trip. A large dog playing in the snow, ice in the shape of paw prints left in its wake. And stories started to spread, of the Winter Hound, who would find you when lost or alone, and guide you to safety.

Even as he grumbled about it, Aster couldn't help but admit there were worse legacies a mutt spirit could end up with. He never forgot his run in with a Grim after all.

His interactions with Jack were steadily improving as well, as long as either party avoided certain topics of discussions, such as 68. Surprisingly, Jack was an interesting bloke to talk to, his 300 years or so of solitude giving him a perspective into the world that the normally isolated Aster would lack. He brought the rabbit to several isolated spots in the world, frozen forests and glittering plains, shades of white and blues so deep and vibrant that he wished he could just reach out and pluck it from the view before him, bottling it for his painting.

His feelings for the young frost sprite were also steadily, and subtly, changing. From barely tolerated teammates, to grudging friends, to bantering debate buddies to...

Well, that was the crux of it, wasn't it?

\-------------

Aster's paw twitched as he sketched absent-mindedly, looking out over the early springtime morning, Jack's late night work shimmering like powdered diamond on the grass and trees, highlighting the colours of the few flowers hardy enough to emerge this soon after winter in a way he had never seen before. Winter, he had discovered over the years, held its own type of beauty, a unique purity to the land, its simpleness only highlighting the exception.

Once, when they were discussing their respective seasons, Aster admitted that there were some morning so choked with colour it felt gaudy.

Jack assured him that he sometimes hated how bare and monochrome his season could be. How much he enjoyed visiting him in the Warren for the sheer joy of colour.

Currently, his gaze was focused on a gnarled old tree, full of knots and twisted branches, admiring how even here the frost gave new life, the pattern of lights scattered by the twisting wood.

He pictured jack, hopping from one branch to the other, with that otherworldly grace that his constant companion blessed him with. Treating it as a game as he swung from the branches with his crook, his face lit up as he filled the still clearing with laughter, the kind that settles in a place deeper than any echo, bringing a smile to the lips... The way his hoodie billowed out as he spun or dropped, giving a tantalising glimpse of creamy pale skin beneath, making the older male's breath catch in his throat the first time he saw it. His tussled hair, resisting any assault by brush or comb, only adding to his roguish charm. Even his physique which the more muscular pooka would have called lanky, seemed to just... Fit him. And oh, MiM, when that long, supple body twisted and arched as he moved... It let his thoughts down to places he had thought he had left behind eons ago, fertility idol be damned.

Surely it was criminal for a lad to look that good so effortlessly...

Glancing down to check on the sketch, he gave a small groan of exasperation and embarrassment, tearing out the page none too gently, considering just crushing and tossing it.

He knew he never would.

Carefully, he smoothed out the image of jack, sans hoodie, tongue slowly sliding over his top lip, swallowing a lump in his throat.  
Quickly, glancing around for any signs he was being watched, he flipped his sketchbook to the back and slid it inside the sleeve on the back cover with a crinkling of paper, betraying the presence of other, similar images.

He was no idiot. He knew fine well what his subconscious and body were trying to tell hum. But Jack, well...

He was born to a different time, even if he lived through the more progressive eras. He certainly shown no hesitation in embracing one of his young (now not so young and happily married) believers when he came to the winter sprite for advice regarding his attraction to men. Even now, he always dusted the day of their anniversary with powder, a silent approval and a wish for them to be happy together.

But it was easier to accept your friends than someone who had their eyes on you.

He sighed as he closed over his sketchbook, watching the sun slide below the mountains, twitching his ears. Jack asked him to meet him here, at sundown, saying he had something important to say. The normally restless, cheerful young man was looking withdrawn, almost afraid as he made the request, so he had accepted without a thought.

Now he was wondering why something so urgent couldn't have been discussed somewhere far warmer, say, his Warren. The Winter Chill, fading as it was, was still enough for the seasonal to hold his toes up off the cold earth, resting on an overturned tree trunk.

As he was considering finding somewhere warmer to wait, or even seek out the sprite himself, the sun set below the horizon, the last rays setting the glittering valley ablaze before fading.

As darkness swept in to replace the light, a long, drawn out, and very near howl filled the crisp air.

\------------

Wolves? Not in this region, not for decades. Didn't the humans try re-introducing them in a bunch of places?

Another howl, closer, to the left. Same throat if he was any judge. So, one solitary wolf, possibly separated from the pack...

He threw his supplies back into his bag, slinging it over one shoulder to bounce at his hip. Whatever Frostbite had to say could be said in the Warren. Tapping the solid earth, he prepared to leap...

But the frozen earth stubbornly refused to open, an equal magic countering his own.

The howl again. To the right, closer.

Buggar.

He had his boomerangs with him, but the wide, reaching branches and shrubs would make anything long distance almost impossible. A handful of grenades, mostly smokebombs as he wasn't expecting trouble, but his more proactive ones were stored in his armoury. There were always his claws and pookan martial arts to fall back on, but if his theories (fears) were correct, they wouldn't do him much good.

With a string of aussie curses, he launched himself forward, wincing as the snow chilled his extremities, wondering if he should dig out his old gear when (if) he got back home.

He leapt off the edge of an overhand into a clearing, skidding forward slightly as he stopped, drumming the earth experimentally, gritting his teeth as nothing so much as quivered.

The howl again. Behind him.

Twisting his head round, he glanced up at the cliff, taking a step back despite himself.

It was easily the size of a small pony. Fur glittering with ice, making it impossible to determine where fur ended and snow began. For how, he was standing out against the darkening blue of the twilight sky, coal black nose twitching, ears swivelling to focus on him. Icy blue eyes that belonged on no mortal animal bored into him, its expression unreadable as he felt himself sink into cerulean pools, unable to move.

The spell broke as the wolf dropped his jaw, tongue flopping out as its shoulders shook in an approximate parody of a laugh.

Then the beast threw back its head and began to howl once more, leaping down towards his hapless prey.

\-----------

He scampered. He didn't retreat, didn't withdraw...

He ran, like a scared little kit, instincts both old and new nipping at his heels in an urge to run faster, away from the beast with sharp teeth, sharp claws and hungry for bunny meat.

The rational part of his mind tried to drawn out the fear, suggesting strategies, traps, potential weaknesses. But even that escaped him as a howl came from in front of him, his feet struggling for purchase as he twisted to the left.

He tried to take to the trees, but the winds caused them to sway and arch, more often than not slowing him down.

Howling, to the right. He veered left.

He ran towards a briar patch of thorns, eyeing up the burrowed openings down there the vines were lessor. Undignified, and a tight squeeze, but-

Howling, to left this time. Cursing, he abandoned the escape route before he could process it properly.

The bloody thing was herding him. Guiding him somewhere in a maze of frozen trees and deceptive snow drifts. Already he could feel fatigue nibble at his limbs, his frantic need to escape causing him to forget all the little stamina saving tricks he had learnt over the years. Wherever this thing was luring him, it wasn't somewhere he wanted fo be as an exhausted wreck.

Forcing himself to breathe, he smoothed out his gait, letting the leap forward carry him, the moments of weightlessness between points of the earth to rest his aching muscles. He was not prey. Not prey, not prey not-

It howled in front of him, once more trying to send him running.

Not prey not prey not prey NOT PREY NOT PR-

A wall of white leapt out from the side, glacial blue eyes shimmering as time see.ed to crawl along.

It overshot its mark, but the deed was done. A thick paw slid under the strap of his back, tugging at Aster. The resulting imbalance caused both to stumble, the beast slamming into a tree, satchel and contents scattered in front of him. Aster tripped and rolled along the ground before his bad thudded heavily against a trunk, knocking the wind out of him.

He couldn't say how long they lay there, panting and recovering. Aster could only stare at his sketchbook, the sleeve torn, pages fluttering in the breeze.

\------------

The beast tilted its head as it peered at one of the images, before standing stock still, as though unsure as to what it saw. Carefully, and with a strangled protest from Aster, it swept another image free, peering at it until its shoulders began...

Aster clenched his jaw tight. This bloody mangy mongrel was... Laughing, at his sketches! It dragged its paw over each one, tail swaying as Jack was laid bare in front of him, from the innocent, to the perverse. It seemed to come back to the nude images again and again, its shoulders shaking harder, tail whipping up snow flurries and...

"if yer gonna kill me, at least leave me some dignity ye bloody bastard..."

Seemingly knocked out of its thoughts, the wolf stared at the rabbit. While he knew for a fact nuzzles couldn't smirk, this one DEFINITELY managed it. Slowly, self assuredly, it padded forward towards him, cursing himself mentally as he straightened up, attempting to push back against the bark of the massive oak behind him.

It approached silently, not even making an indentation on the slow below, eventually reaching the rabbits toes... Stepping up to the thighs, the hips... Swallowing, the Easter icon met the gaze of the wolf mere inches from his face, pricing himself on keeping his voice level.  
"what are ye waitin' for... Do it."

Closing his eyes, he braced himself, praying to a dead god for a people long gone. Perhaps he could see them again, once..

The bite he was expecting never came. Instead the wolf dropped down, landing his not inconsiderable weight on his chest, chin resting on a grey furred shoulder. It squirmed a few times, as though getting comfortable, before stilling, every inch of the pooka hidden beneath thick fur.

Carefully, he raised his arm, the wolf watching, unconcerned. He lowered it against his shoulder, giving a light push. Its jaw dropped in silent laughter as he rocked slightly, ending up almost back where he started.

Blue and green met, staring at each other, seconds dragging on, until, with a dismissive flick of the tail, it leaned in and...

There were many things Aster had experienced over his long lifetime.

Having a thick, broad and sticky wolf tongue slurp over his face wasn't one of them.

Blinking, Aster could only stare ahead as the he's returned to his shoulder, a soft sigh filling the silent clearing.

"you know, my hips aren't that slender..."

\-------------

He was no stranger to shape shifting. It was as essential to the pooka as breathing.

But even so, to see fur recede into pale, creamy skin was new, triangular ears round and sink down to meet the eyes, bones shifting in a way that he knew from experience wasn't painful, but looked as though it SHOULD.

A tail sunk down into hips that were stretching, knees and elbows stretching to new forms, the thick muzzle becoming dimpled cheeks, blue lips, his eyes...

Stupid, stupid! Always check the eyes!

"So... Um... This isn't, you know, exactly how I'd picture it, but... Um... Surprise?"

Jack was... Oh, Manny, he was nude. And laying on him. And NUDE. Immediately after realising this, he clenched his eyes shut, mumbling a little.  
"Wot th' hell's goin' on Frostbite..."

Laughter, familiar and comforting came from the weight on his torso, feeling fingers run through his chest fur.  
"You can look you know... I don't mind... Nice to know you've been thinking of me like I've been thinking of you."

He felt the lad straighten up until he was almost straddling the rabbit, his fingers continuing to run through his fur, tracing old, hidden scars beneath. Carefully, he cracked open one eye, glancing.

Okay, so long as he didn't look down, he'd be fine. As it was, the pale, exposed torso was distracting just by itself. And he had been... Thinking of him?

"As for the whole, you know... Monster thing? I dunno, some of the memories are a little hazy."

The words washed over him, unable to focus as he reached up with a trembling hand. On Jack's chest were pale grey markings, almost lost against his milky skin, a six pronged snowflake taking the pride of place, like his leaf pattern. The style was different, more angular compared to his own, but it was unmistakable.

He choked out the word as his fingertips lightly, almost fearfully, traced the marks, as if they would fade and it was all just one big cosmic joke.  
"Po... Pooka... Yer a... Oh Manny, yer a Pooka!"

Jack stared, with eyes wide, leaning in immediately, slender fingers grabbing his shoulders tight, a look of urgency on his face.

"You know what I am?"

"O' course Snowflake... I mean... Different clans, sure. But... We're the same ruddy species..."

\--------------

The pair sat in the clearing, jack, after being convinced to hunt down at least his pants, resting his head on Asters lap, the silence heavy as the stars and moon shone down from above.

Eventually, jack broke the silence with a mumble.  
"I thought I was a monster at first... The first time I.. Changed."

He kept silent, only moving his hand to the younger's head, stroking gently. This was something he needed to get off his chest. It wasn't easy discovering you're a whole different species to what you thought.

He gave a small snort, a humourless smile tugging at his lips.

"people could only see this massive wolf, not the scrawny kid, so I... I tried, you know? But they were afraid, locked their kids inside and went hunting... The 'Big Bad Wolf' haunting their town."

Something ached inside Aster's chest and had to repress the urge to just pull the boy into a tight embrace. Let jack move at his own pace...

"But... But before that? Bunny, I remember things... Not everything, but... I remember finding this man in the snow... Lost and alone, like I was."

He coughed slightly, rubbing at his eye.

"He was the first person I spoke to. Hehe... He thought he was hallucinating. This little wolf cub talking. But I... I led him back home... And I just... Didn't leave."

He fell silent again, shifting until he was sitting next to the older Pooka, leaning against his shoulder in an unspoken request. Reaching up, he stroked his head as he let his chest be used as a pillow.

"I grew, and so did Mr. Overland as his wife... Until one day this squealing little bundle of joy came along. I remember... Trying to play with her, wishing I wasn't so different and I just started... Changing."

Another sad little smile.

"Don't remember much after that until I died and... Well, you know the rest."

Silence filled the air again until Aster gave a small grunt, squeezing the younger man.

"There's... I have some books... From before the Pooka... Well.. From before. Yer welcome t' come take a look... Ah could tell ye all about... Yerself."

Jack gave what was probably his first genuine smile of the night, looking up, blue eyes meeting green.  
"yeah, I'd like that."

**Author's Note:**

> So, during my Puca research, I found out they could be different things and... Well...
> 
> God damn it, it was too cute to pass up! So Canine!Pooka jack for everyone!
> 
> And yes, not my best work, considering I was 3/4 asleep when typing it.


End file.
